Boring as Hell

The clock ticked away the minutes and hours. It was the loudest noise in the office, but George barely heard it; the sound had long since faded into his subconscious.

The office was large. He wasn’t sure how many people worked there; everyone was tucked into their own individual cubicles. The cubicles were arranged so the workers couldn’t see each other, but some flaw in the layout allowed him to see the girl next to him. He couldn’t see much, just a tuft of brown hair, the edge of a shoulder, the hint of a skirt. He’d never seen her face. He’d never spoken to her, but watching her gave him some comfort. She felt like a friend.

Every day in the office was the same. His in-box was always full when he sat down. It was his job to empty it. He processed orders and dockets. Goods received, goods shipped. It was the same endless routine, but today something was different. George put a completed invoice into his out-box and then paused. He felt more alert, more thoughtful. It suddenly occurred to him he couldn’t remember how long he’d worked in the office. He couldn’t remember how much he got paid. He couldn’t remember what he did when he left the office. Where did he live? Did he have a family? Sweat broke out on his forehead. Was he having a stroke? Was it a brain tumor? He stood, his head spinning. He stumbled over to the cubicle where the girl worked.

“I don’t feel well. I think I need help.”

She looked at him, her eyes dull and uninterested. Even in his distressed state, George saw she was significantly older than he’d imagined. Before she could respond, a disembodied voice echoed across the office.

“Will all employees return to their assigned cubicles.”

George looked up at the ceiling.

“I’m ill!”

“Will all employees return to their assigned cubicles immediately.”

“Please!”

“Will all employees return to their assigned cubicles immediately!”

The woman stared at him blankly without speaking. George returned to his cubicle, still feeling unwell.

The next morning, he noticed the woman’s cubicle was empty. He felt a brief sense of disquiet, quickly forgotten, as the drudgery of the day’s work blocked all conscious thought from his mind. But in his subconscious, the questions from the previous day were still there, causing a spark of self-awareness in the endless routine and conformity. His neurons fired, his brain cells reviewed memories and observations. A revelation popped into his conscious mind.

“I know where I am.”

In the distance an alarm sounded and the disembodied voice spoke once again.

“All employees remain seated. All employees remain seated.”

The voice continued, but George paid no attention. He stood.

“I KNOW WHERE WE ARE!”

There was a soft voice at his side.

“Come this way, George. Please.”

The man next to him was a stranger. Dressed in a neat business suit, it occurred to George this might be his boss. He felt his arm being taken and he was lead to a small, windowless office at the side of the main office. He’d never noticed it before. There was a table and two chairs. The man sat in one and indicated for George to sit in the other.

“This has only happened twice before, George. It is, if the word isn’t slightly inappropriate, a miracle.”

“What?”

“Your revelation.”

“Oh.”

“So, tell me, where are you?”

George hesitated.

“Go on, George, you were brave enough to shout it out to everyone in the office. Tell me.”

“I think…I think I’m in Hell.”

“And why do you think that?”

“It’s the same every day. The same boring, dull endless paperwork. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I live or what I do outside this office. I don’t speak to anyone. It’s the same routine every day. Hell isn’t fire and torture, at least that’d be interesting. Hell is this.”

The man smiled, then leant forward, his hand extended.

“Congratulations George, you’ve just been promoted.”

∼ RJ Meldrum

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